


Sherlock Holmes and the Ernstwhile Jewels

by meglorraine



Series: No, Really We're Just Living Together [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, John freaking out at Donovan, Kidnapping, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meglorraine/pseuds/meglorraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have a new case. The Ertswhile Museum has been robbed by a dead man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> We do not own any characters seen in the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle works or the Steven Moffat works (BBC)  
> This is a FemmeJohn and FemmeLock story.

The front door to 221B Baker Street flew open with a colossal bang, nearly shaking the entire building and making me jump. Sherlock strode in and up the stairs, face stormy, and stalked over to the couch. She threw down a bundle of papers on the coffee table, and flopped down onto the cushions. She turned her back to the room, muttering viciously. Something had Sherlock in a foul mood.

“What's happened now?” I said looking at my sour flat-mate.

Sherlock flipped over and gestured to the pile of papers with a snort, “Mycroft.” and flipped over again. There was a distinctly venomous hint to her muttering.

“Are you refusing Mycroft's cases again?” I asked. Of course Sherlock was in a soddy mood, she always was after her dealings with her sister.

Sherlock looked sullenly over her shoulder, “...I can't. She'll bring the full might of the government down on my head if I don't take this.” As was one of the typical threats Mycroft used to get Sherlock to do anything for her. The other most commonly used was the threat of calling “Mummy.”

“So why are you sulking?” I sighed rubbing my face. I was a little tired of the Sherlock vs Mycroft battles these days.

Sherlock threw an arm over her eyes, “Because this case is _boring_ , Johnny. Boring, I tell you. Why try looking for something as uninteresting as some missing jewels? Why is no one murdering anyone in _interesting_ ways?” She was almost whining like a child, almost.

“Because you've caught all of the murderers. Why don't you solve Mycroft's cases quickly and be done with them.” I said trying to be the peacemaker that Sherlock and Mycroft somehow forced me to be. Honestly there would be a war in England if I don't mediate between the sisters.

“Because that would be  _losing_ , John.” And there would be the child. 

“Losing what? This silly game you and your sister are playing?” I asked trying my best, and most likely failing, at not sounding like a mother.

“It's not a game.” Sherlock looked offended, “If it's so easy, why don't you-” She stopped and light up. I did not like that look in her eyes.

“Why don't I what?” I asked with dread.

“You can solve it, Johnny!” She looked more excited than she had since before Christmas. “This will be an excellent opportunity to stu – for you to put your skills to work!” I pretended to not hear the 'opportunity to study' comment.

“Alright, what's the first case?” I asked skeptical about this whole idea. Sherlock was utterly gleeful at having found a way around Mycroft and handed the bundle of papers to me.

The first listed an impressive range of stolen jewels, all taken during a robbery of a museum two weeks prior. Each subsequent page lists identifying characteristics of each gem, and the final page had a single picture of a man. He was tall and absurdly thin, with a thick beaky nose and hard, dull blue eyes. Underneath the picture, in black ink, was the name of Robert Kennel, underlined twice, and with a small note that read only 'brainless twat,' in Sherlock's handwriting.

“Robert Kennel stole the jewels. The only question is where he is, right?” I asked.

“Not quite. You see, he's been dead for thirty years, but he was on the security cameras. And the body exhumed under Mycroft's orders is a genetic match for him.” Sherlock explained.

“A brother then?”

“No, it's a precise genetic match. So the question is not 'Where is Robert Kennel?' but 'Who is wearing Robert Kennel's face?'” Sherlock laughed merrily, she was way too excited about the whole arrangement. “And I won't tell you a thing!” She grinned with all of her teeth.

“Facial surgery. Using the original man's actual face.” I guessed. This was a waste of time. Sherlock had already solved the cases and only wanted to watch me flounder around until I begged her for help.

“Can't have, he's been dead thirty years.” She looked pleased at my suggestion, only proving my point, “Again, Johnny. Would you, perhaps like to go to the museum? The scene has been left untouched by order of the yard.” She offered.

“Sure. Lead the way, Sherlock.” I said standing up and grabbing my jacket.

All of the sullenness from before had disappeared completely, and as she stalked down the stairs, coat swirling behind her, she had a faint grin on her face. Sherlock called a cab, and then shouted up the stairs for me, “John! Hurry!”

“Coming!” I shouted back as I went down the stairs while zipping up my jacket.

Sherlock smiled brightly when I made it out the door, “In you get, my dear Watson.” she turned to the cabbie, “To Erstwhile Museum.” I climbed in the cab, already hating this decision to solve the cases for Sherlock. A short drive later, we had arrived at a dimly lite and police cordoned building that looked very plain. Sherlock absentmindedly paid and swept me out in front of her and through the tape. There was a lone police officer standing guard, but he looked resigned as Sherlock passed. I looked around the museum as we headed to where the theft took place.

At the scene, skeletons of cabinets remained, and glass, shattered almost to a dust, lay in heaps before each one. There were no other occupants of the cabinets. “What do you observe about this room, my dear Watson?” Sherlock asked with excitement.

“He did not care about the alarm when the glass broke. Most likely used a gun. Did not avoid the security cameras. He worked alone and had to carry everything himself. Used a backpack or duffel bag. Slight footprints in the glass indicate that he came in though the front and left through the back.” I said after looking around the room. Apparently it wasn't enough for Sherlock, she looked slightly disappointed.

“Is that all, John?”

“Well, what did I miss?” I was honestly not trying very hard.

“I said I wouldn't help. No cheating.” She frowned and once again looked like a small child.

“All right.” I sighed, “We can trace the bullets to the gun, and then the gun to the shooter, and find his locations that way. Or you could look at the security footage, find what kind of mobile he has and do a trace.”

“All true, all easy enough.” She still looked slightly disappointed, “I suppose you should like to see the security footage.”

“Well, that would be helpful to anyone that's not you.” I snapped and instantly regretted it. I had been having nightmare and barely sleeping, they were beginning to take their toll. “I mean … Yes. I'd like to see the footage. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap.” I apologized.

Sherlock looked taken aback, but nodded. After a moment, her gaze turned thoughtful, “Hm. Come along, Johnny. I should have thought of that immediately.” She turned to go and I followed quietly behind her. I felt bad for snapping at Sherlock.

We were forced to walk a ways before we saw a cab, and once we did, Sherlock hailed it. It took us to Scotland Yard, and all the while, Sherlock's fingers were tapping away on her lap. I watched Sherlock's fingers as they danced, “Sherlock, I'm sorry. I haven't been getting much sleep lately.”

Sherlock looked over at me, startled “Oh, you think - no, no, Johnny. You're absolutely fine.” Sherlock looked down at her fingers, as if she hadn't known she was moving them.

“Oh. Um. Alright.”

We arrived at Scotland Yard, “Come now, my dear Watson. It's easier from here on out.” Sherlock said as she clambered out of the cab. I followed her but I was seriously doubting just how easy it was going to be.

“LESTRADE! Hello again!” Sherlock called as she burst into Lestrades' office. Lestrade spilled his coffee, he clearly wasn't expecting Sherlock and looked at her like she had finally gone mental. “We need the security footage from the robbery of the Erstwhile Museum.”

“How do you even know I have _jurisdiction_?” Lestrade asked bewildered.

“I do now that you've admitted it.” I had to smile at that, she tricked Lestrade again.

“I can't just hand that over, the Chief'll have my head! He's already pissed off that I called on you over Christmas!” Lestrade protested.

“He should be more grateful, since there isn't a _chance_ he would have solved it, the way he runs this place.” Sherlock sniffed. She and the Chief do not get on well.

“Why are you here, Sherlock?” Lestrade sighed.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock bit out, looking ill over her dislike of her sisters name. I had to hide my chuckle at her obvious and childish dislike.

“Well Lestrade?” Sherlock asked after throwing me a look of irritation.

“You keep quiet, you hear?” Lestrade said looking like a parent sneaking their child a cookie. Sherlock gave him a look and held out. Lestrade handed her the thumb drive, muttering something about 'I knew this was coming.' I can't help but think about how Lestrade is so used to Sherlock that he just gives her whatever she wants.

“Excellent.” Sherlock said now that she had the thumb drive.

“Whatever gets you two out of my hair.” Lestrade winked at me, “Nice to see you corpse magnets looking at something different for a change.” He teased.

“Go make sure the cab is still there.” Sherlock said as she tossed the thumb drive to me, “I'll be down in a moment.”

I catch the thumb drive with with ease and head down to the cab. It's still there and I ask the cabbie to wait. “Wonder what they're talking about up there. No doubt it's whatever Sherlock won't tell me about from the last case.” I thought out loud to myself.

 

 

Sherlock watched John leave Lestrade’s office. As soon as John was gone she turned back to Lestrade suddenly serious, “Any word?”

“Very little.” Lestrade says with a sigh, looking exhausted, “We've only confirmed what you suspected, that the group exists, but as to their members or goals, we're lost as a rubber duck in the Thames.”

Sherlock scowled, “The documents in his house? The claymore? Tell me at least that you found the eyes.”

Lestrade winced and shook his head, “We're trying, Sherlock. We are.” He leans forward, “Have you told her yet?”

“Why would I do that?” Sherlock lets out a bitter laugh, “Johnny Watson is not the most trusting creature around, and I will not risk that on something that even I, the person who theorized it, has trouble believing. Thank you for he footage and the new.” Sherlock whisks out the door.

 

 

“Let's go back to the flat. It's cold, and the tea would do you some good.” Sherlock said to me with a smile.

“What were you two talking about up there?” I asked, hoping that she would tell me something that wasn't a bunch of lies.

Sherlock's face darkened as she said, “I was inquiring as to the state of the Eye Collector case, and the trial of Gwynnedd Arbright as an accessory to murder.” Yup, she's hiding something.

“Oh. How's that going?” I asked, playing along. If she wants me to know something she will tell me.

Sherlock scoffs and climbs into the cab, “Oh, ridiculously, of course. The courts are refusing to believe that she didn't have something to do with it, as I told you.”

“Oh.” I climbed into the cab after her. Sherlock directed the cabbie to 221 B, and her fingers began to tap again, the rhythm to Tchaikovsky's theme of Swan Lake, which she had recently taken to playing quite aggressively when bored. I watched London go by through the window until we arrived at the flat.

“Johnny.”

“Yes, Sherlock?” Sherlock squirms for a moment before extricating herself from the cab, waiting for me in the cold.

“What is it, Sherlock?” I asked climbing out of the cab.

“You don't have to do this. I thought it would be – well, a welcome distraction. For you. From the . . .” She gestures towards her head, pale with embarrassment, “Truly, Johnny. I can have this finished by tomorrow morning. I apologize for pushing it on you.”

“It's – it's okay Sherlock. Why don't we work on it together?” I was shocked at how Sherlock was behaving and I felt a little guilty about not being able to focus enough to do what she had wanted.

“No, that's quite alright.” She stares into space, then starts, “Of course. _Of course_.” Sherlock takes off running down the street.

“Sherlock!” I yelled as I ran after her. She doesn't even appear to have hear me. Sherlock was so intent on whatever had caught her attention that she seemed almost to be flying. My army habits kicked in and I followed Sherlock at a suitable pace.

 

 

“So simple. It's always so simple.” Sherlock was muttering to herself. She darted down an alley towards a single neon sign that read _Marion's Antiques_. “Of course the bones matched. Because he was dead. But that doesn't mean –” She turned down another alley, and a gun's hammer being cocked echoed in the night. Sherlock froze. “Johnny is going to kill me.”

A man steps out of the shadows. He has the face of Robert Kennel, or one very similar, but his eyes are what catches the eye – a very familiar set of one blue one hazel. “Not if I got you first.”

 

 

I followed Sherlock to an antique shop and watch her go down an alley, but I pause as another almost unnoticeable shadow goes down the alley right after Sherlock. “I'm going to kill her.” I mutter as I pull out my gun and switch the safety off, slowly creeping towards the alley.

 

 

“Good to see you're still thieving thirty years after you were buried, Robert.” Sherlock says.

The man laughs, but it sounds dust choked, “Strange 'ow the world works? But you know i'm not 'im.”

Sherlock looked affronted, “Of course not. But when you inherit your father's name, it's still your father's name.”

Robert hisses and jabs her in the back of the neck with his gun, “Get moving. I don't want what 'appened to Marc to 'appen to me.”

Sherlock freezes a moment, “Pardon?”

“Didn't see that coming, did you, you smug bitch. Get in the shop, come on.” Robert shoved Sherlock forward.

Sherlock snarls, “That lying, weaselly –”

“Your sister didn't exactly with 'old information without some encouragement.” He said with a grin, “Amazing, the places being dead gets you into.

Sherlock enters the shop, stumbling through the darkness to the back door, and gets into the back seat of the waiting car. Robert Kennel, Jr. followed Sherlock, looking around, and barked at the driver. Sherlock looks calm, her fingers tapping rapidly on her lap.

 

 

I couldn't quite hear what's being said, but I had my gun aimed at the man. I followed them as Sherlock and the man go through the shop and into an awaiting car out back. I watched as they drove off, I put my gun away and memorized the license plate, calling it into Lestrade.

“Hold on. _What_ just happened?” Lestrade spat through the phone.

“Sherlock's been taken by a man in a car. I can't follow them on foot but I have the license plate. Tell me you can track that.” I say passing the license plate number onto Lestrade.

“We can try. It's not like it has a GPS dot on it, you know.” Lestrade pauses a moment, when he speaks next his voice is softer, “Look, I know. I just put it through to everyone on patrol, but that's the best I can do. I need you to come to the station. We'll need to ask you some things. I'll make it quick and painless.”

“Alright.” I said as I hung up.

“God damn you, Sherlock. You were literally here  _half an hour_ ago. Fuck.” Lestrade said, running a hand through his hair as he put his phone down and waited for John to arrive.

 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do not own any characters seen in the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle works or the Steven Moffat works (BBC)  
> This is a FemmeJohn and FemmeLock story.

I got a cab back to the station and barged through the building much like Sherlock would have. “Lestrade. Tell me you have a way to track mobiles.” I said bursting into Lestrade's office.

Lestrade blinked before saying, “Of course we do. Who do you think you're talking to, the Neighborhood Watch Brigade? Does she have it with her?”

“Yes, she does.”

Lestrade grinned savagely, “Then we have something, at least. Donovan! Put Sherlock's phone on the tracking queue!” Behind him, the department was going mad, between fielding the normal calls and various other projects. Sally looked up, and nodded grimly.

“We'll have the freak back, goo and proper, before the night's out.” Donovan looked furious, “If the stupid bint doesn't escape from her own kidnapping like she did  _last_ time.” 

I purposefully ignored Donovan, “Thank you, Lestrade.” I began pacing around the office, waiting for someone to locate Sherlock.

 

 

Just inside London's limits, Sherlock has blood on her face from a deep cut on her cheekbone, but she looks utterly placid. She is not even tied in place, her hands folded in her lap as she calmly watches her captors. In stark contrast, the three men before her are looking steadily more and more frustrated. Handprints on her skin are slowly blooming into bruises, and yet she still watches them passively as they begin to argue.

“We shoulda left her alone. Now the Yard will be on us, and that devil of hers. Shot Marc without mercy, the cold bitch.” one man said. Sherlock twitches very slightly, then she falls still.

“You know we 'ad to. You know what she would 'ave done if we 'ad just let 'er run around. She can't do anything 'ere, she's so scared.” Robert turned, laughing a bit, “We didn't even 'ave to tie 'er down.”

Another man, this one looking uneasy, said, “You hear what she and her devil did to that Moriarty bid. Took out her entire web in three years, what was a forty-year project.”

“Does it matter? They can't find her.” Robert said with a grin, “Her phone's in the Thames, and she'll keep quiet. After all, she doesn't want that devil of 'ers going the same way of her mobile.”

Sherlock watched the whole exchange quietly, her eyes were burning, the pale green like copper sulfate afire.

 

 

“We found her phone, but it's in the Thames River.” Donovan called out, she was looking at the blinking dot that was Sherlock's cellphone, in the middle of the Thames.

“I'm sorry, John.” Lestrade said softly.

“No, that's not right. They took her when they could've just shot her.” I paced around and thought, I believe I reminded everyone faintly of Sherlock. “Lestrade. Do you think this has anything to do with whatever you and Sherlock talked about today?”

Lestrade sputtered, “Certainly not. This is from Mycroft, right? I have no control over what she sees, but she wouldn't send her sister out into that lot's muck –” he froze.

“What? Lestrade, I don't care if you keep things from me, but Sherlock is out there and she needs my help, so give me something to work with or so help me.” I was getting very angry and I was very seriously considering using my gun to get information, oh God I feel like Sherlock.

“Listen. Sherlock was the one who didn't want me to mention that, and so I won't.” Lestrade looked guilty, “She's mad, but God help us, we need her, and she'd be a good woman if she ever decided to she _cared_ about someone. But Mycroft … She's a whole other story. She cares, but doesn't let it stop her. Even so, she wouldn't send Sherlock into something like that. She _wouldn't_.”

“Unless she didn't know.” Donovan said. Lestrade looked at her, startled. “The license number came back. It's registered to Robert Kennel, Jr. and Officer Davies just found the vehicle abandoned just under a mile from the last signal from Sherlock's mobile.”

“Lestrade. I don't need everything. Just give me something to get to Sherlock with. You may think she doesn't care, but I know she does, in her own way.” I said to try and reason with him.

Lestrade looked torn, arguing within his own head, before nodding “Marcus wasn't working alone. When we knew what we were looking for, we found a lot of other cases where body parts went missing. Not in the same way, not in the sense of being collected, but it was eerie. And then Sherlock pointed out that the parts were taken by the same people, one to each kind, and it went from there. The fact that none of the parts were found confused the hell out of her. And she was so frustrated when Mycroft asked her to take time off from this. She's been running herself ragged, but we just don't have enough information, not even for her. But then-”

“The freak was looking at the papers Mycroft had sent, and she lit up like a Christmas cracker. Ran out of here like she was on fire.” Donovan broke in.

“So she's been taken by the people who worked with Marcus?” I said ignoring Donovan, but if she says one more freak comment I was going to snap.

Lestrade looked thunderstruck, and then furious as he barked orders, “I want a squadron combing the area around the car immediately! Two mile radius, they couldn't have gone far! NOW! Johnny, follow me.” He turned and ran, swearing loudly. Donovan looked at me, she's washed out but determined.

“Let's get back the dumb bint before she kills them all.” Donovan said about to take off after Lestrade.

“Donovan, I have _had_ it with your comments about Sherlock. She may be unusual and annoying but you have no right to call her those things. I am past my breaking point and if I hear you talk like that one more time Anderson will be moving on to another girl and Lestrade will never find your body.” I snapped before following Lestrade. Donovan looked dumbfounded, and followed mutely.

 

 

Sherlock's seized by the shoulder, “We should kill her and scarper. We can't have long before they fins us; her devil's been persistent before.” one of the men shook her.

“Not yet. She's almost more useful than...” Robert paused, “Yes, she should meet 'er cellmate. Throw 'er in the storage room, would ya? Even if they find us, they won't find them.” The man followed his orders with a dark look. He pushed on the wall, and with a click, it moved away, the seam almost hair thin and unnoticeable in the gloom. Sherlock allowed herself to be lifted, but shakes away the mans hands. She walked into the room of her own accord. There's an uneasy swear, and the panel is closed behind her.

Sherlock folded her arms behind her back, “Hello, sister dearest.”

Mycroft looked up from her position in the middle of the floor, her back straight as a signpost. Her face is puffy and bruised, as if recently hit, but she is just as calm as Sherlock. “Strange how the underside of London's more frightened of Johnny than you, dear sister.”

 

 

“Where are we going, Lestrade?” I asked after calming down a bit.

“South side. Near the wharfs.” He responded quickly.

“Well, here's your chance to prove Sherlock wrong about you.” I teased.

“She wouldn't believe me if I did.” He smiled at me. As we drove my muscles tensed up and I was itching to hit something.

 

 

Sherlock sat down beside her sister, “... I didn't know.” Mycroft said, trying to apologize.

“I know.” Sherlock said turning to Mycroft, and her eyes are burning again, “But if Johnny is so much as scratched, I will tear you limb from limb, and present them to Mummy as a funereal gift.”

“So, how do you propose we escape?” Mycroft said as she stretched her aching muscles.

Sherlock grinned her scheming grin, “We wait for my devil, apparently.”

“She's caused quite a stir in the underside with that stunt of hers.” Mycroft said with a scowl that slowly softened, “I wasn't aware you were so heavily involved with the Makers.”

“Is that what they call themselves?” Sherlock's eyebrow rose in mock interest.

 

 

Lestrade sighed, “Johnny. They're not going to find her faster if you glare at them.” We were just outside a well-lit warehouse, and Lestrade was x-ing off searched locations on a map that was spread out on the hood of his car. “Two miles is a lot of space.” I sighed heavily and went back to my pacing.

 

 

“They're almost on the perimeter, Robert. They'll find us. We should shoot them both.” one man said.

Robert was unnerved and fidgety, “Fine! Just do it quickly! Preserve the bodies, we'll come back later!”

The man nodded, he looked relieved and pressed the door to the Holmes' _cell_ open. He shuts it behind him, and takes aim at Mycroft. Before he can pull the trigger, arms wrapped around his throat and crushed his windpipe. The last his conscious mind heard is a harsh, sibilant whisper as outside the room, the police began to pound on the doors.

“Johnny Watson is hardly the only devil on the London streets.”

 

 

Lestrade listened intently tot the radio. “They found two suspicious men in a room with crates containing the stolen jewels, but no sign of Sherlock” Lestrade sent a quick look at me, “I'm sorry.”

 

 

“The walls are sound proofed, aren't they.” Sherlock said vastly irritated as she listened to the completely incompetent police scuffle about in the other room.

Mycroft chuckles, “Very much so. And his cohorts would have had to let him out – it doesn't open from this side.” She kicked his prone body, “Stupid man.”

“Then we will simply have to wait for my devil to set us free.” Sherlock said sitting down next to Mycroft.

 

 

“I want to see where they were.” I said.

Lestrade shook his head, “I don't know if that's the best I -”

“I'll take you.” Donovan said suddenly. I was honestly shocked at her offer, and so did She. “It can't hurt.”

“Thank you. And I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier.” I said honestly feeling guilty for snapping at her.

Donovan looked mollified, but lead the way to a room swarming with officers. With a waved hand, they scattered as if dismissed. Donovan took up a post by the wall, “Go on, then. I'm curious to see if what the – if what _she_ does can be taught.”

I looked around the room and looked at the two men that had been arrested. I squatted down in front of them. They had shifty eyes and were avoiding looking at one certain wall that had no crates against it. I went to that wall and looked for any variation and I found one where there seemed to be scruff marks too close to the wall. I slid my hand along the wall trying to feel for any change. And I found it, “I need a pry bar or a sledge hammer!”

 

 

Sherlock and Mycroft listen to the call for a crowbar, and burst into merry laughter. “A devil indeed.” Mycroft smirked at Sherlock, “Needs must where the devil drives.”

Sherlock looked away, her laughter gone now, “I do not know what you're talking about.” Sherlock turned and helped Mycroft up, who was struggling to get to her feet with what looked like a bad sprain. “And we need to speak about these Makers. As soon as possible.” She turned to wait for Johnny; she did not miss the way Mycroft paled.

 

 

Some one handed me a sledge hammer and I started banging on the seam of the wall, not stopping until there was a hole large enough to climb through, “Sherlock! You alright?”

“I would, perhaps, be a touch better off if someone would take _her_ off my hands.” Sherlock said with a grin. Mycroft glared heavily, but when an officer came to help she accepted it gratefully.

“There's a third man in here. He'll be wanting medical, I may have crushed his windpipe.” Sherlock said steeping aside to let the other officers into the room. She looked at me with a wry expression, “Well. That was exciting.”

“Didn't I ask you not to do that to me?” I said.

Sherlock looked sheepish as first, then offended, and then finally guilty, “... Well, I didn't do it on purpose this time. I honestly did not believe he would be fool enough to pursue me.” Sherlock grinned wickedly, “Not at least, with such a devil who would come after me.”

“A what?” I was relieved to see Sherlock safe but confused at the devil comment.

Sherlock's grin grew worse, “Nothing, my dear Watson.” She paused for a moment and then hugged me quickly, “Now, if you'll pardon me, I believe I need a bandage for my face.” She stalked off, pale faced. I stood there shocked at Sherlock's sudden show of affection but then I moved to where Sherlock was waiting to get her cut looked at.

“Here, let me.” I said holding up an alcohol wipe. I cleaned Sherlock's cut and put a bandage on it.

“Thank you.” Sherlock smiled, “And now I think I'm ready to tell you about the rest of the case.”

“Why don't we save that for after a good night's rest? You look exhausted.” I said with a smile.

“Are you honestly trying to make me _sleep_ , John? When there's _work_ to be done?” Sherlock looked scandalized.

“Yes. And as a doctor I am ordering you to get some sleep. You need to sleep to have energy to deduce and solve cases without getting yourself kidnapped.” I said looking at Sherlock sternly. Sherlock starts to argue, but she stops herself.

 

 

Some distance away, Lestrade and Donovan watched them, and with a sour look Lestrade handed Donovan twenty quid. “Don't know where you get off on changing your tune, but … You were right.” Lestrade sighed.  
“You just don't understand women, Detective Inspector. And women do not chew out the only people that can help them without good reason.” Donovan said before returning to processing the three men with a practiced eye.

 

 

“Tomorrow we must have Mycroft over for tea, Johnny.” Sherlock said.

“Alright. I'll have Mrs. Hudson send up some snacks, too.” I said with a small smile.

Sherlock smiled, and in the back of her eyes, there was still a fire. Banked, yes, but still burning, “... That sounds fantastic, John.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information  
> http://femmejohn.tumblr.com  
> http://femmelock.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> For more information  
> http://femmejohn.tumblr.com  
> http://femmelock.tumblr.com


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